


heroes always get remembered, but you know legends never die

by uaevuon



Series: Legends Never Die (the omegaverse geass AU) [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Immortality, LLYBB, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Victor Nikiforov, Temporary Character Death, magical contract a la code geass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-16 11:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16085174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uaevuon/pseuds/uaevuon
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov never made it to the 2014 World Championship of Figure Skating. He disappeared, suddenly and mysteriously, only a few weeks after that Grand Prix, presumed dead. One hundred years later, his name still topped records; he was still something of a god in the figure skating world. And the man was just as much of a mystery as the circumstances of his death, as he had always been. It was no wonder Yuuri was so attached.





	heroes always get remembered, but you know legends never die

It was hot. 

Yuuri rolled over on his back. The sheets clung to his skin, sticky with sweat, and Yuuri lifted his hand in front of his face, checking the display on his watch for the time, the temperature. Of course, it was perfectly reasonable weather, and the climate controls in his room were working properly, set to the optimal temperature for his health. He was simply hours away from his heat, and Yuuri was feeling it already; not the neediness and the emptiness and the horniness, not yet, but definitely the spike in his body temperature that accompanied it. He’d already sweated through the first layer of sheets, and the nest that he’d built up against the walls on two sides of his bed smelt even worse than they had when Yuuri took those unwashed clothes out of his suitcases two days ago. Within hours, the same smell would be Yuuri’s only comfort, only unfulfilling for being only his own, with no mate to complement it. 

Seeking a distraction, Yuuri tapped the display and sent his queue of vintage figure skating recordings to the projector above his head. The playlist was called “Viktor Nikiforov Highlight Reel” and Yuuri carefully curated it throughout the last few years to have all of his favorite Viktor performances. 

It was nerdy, he knew, and some might think it sad that Yuuri’s hero-crush was on a man who’d had his prime a century earlier. But Viktor’s legendary skill and grace had pushed Yuuri this far, through years of practice and competition to the moment where he had a chance to stand on top of the world, to see that world from Viktor’s vantage point — 

And he lost. 

It had been three months since Yuuri came in last place at the 2113-14 Grand Prix Final. It had been held in Sochi, and Yuuri thought himself incredibly lucky to have a shot at victory in the same place that Viktor himself had set a figure skating world record that stood unbroken to today. Yuuri’s short program had gone well, surprisingly so, and he felt on top of the world, until he got that call, and his dog…

Yuuri blinked hard and turned his attention back to Viktor, dancing across his wall to the program that would win him his first senior gold medal. His hair, freshly shorn, whipped about his face; his skates and costume glittered in the light. 

Yuuri sighed. There was no use in wondering how he might have changed his past, but that didn’t stop the thoughts from coming. 

Yuuri watched the playlist through to the end. It culminated in Viktor’s final performance, at the 2014-15 Grand Prix Final. The sparkly magenta chiffon of Viktor’s costume drew the eye, and then his skating made one forget he was wearing anything at all, with all of Viktor’s emotions, longing, frustrations, laid bare to the world. It was a beautiful program, and heartbreaking; a story of a lack of love, a need to be understood and adored. Many called it the classic lament of a lonely omega, but Yuuri saw so much more in it; a man who had never felt loved for himself, only for what he could give the world. 

The announcer’s tinny voice interrupted the instant replay, which cut away to show Viktor beside his coach at the kiss and cry, looking tired but so, so beautiful, and with a bouquet of blue roses clutched in his arms, one soft petal caught between finger and thumb. 

_Viktor Nikiforov takes gold once more, making this his fifth Grand Prix Final win and a new world record!_

Yuuri tilted his head to the side, the corner of his lips quirking upwards as he watched the grainy recording of Viktor Nikiforov, pink-shirted and shiny-haired, place a dainty kiss on the rim of his medal, then bestow a dazzling smile upon the line of photographers just out of view of the camera’s close-up. 

_What surprises will he have in store for us next? How will he shock us at the World Championships?_

Yuuri’s smile soured, as it always did when he watched this video. The cruel irony of that statement could only be appreciated long after the fact. 

After all, Viktor Nikiforov never made it to the 2014 World Championship of Figure Skating. He disappeared, suddenly and mysteriously, only a few weeks after that Grand Prix, presumed dead. One hundred years later, his name still topped records; he was still something of a god in the figure skating world. And the man was just as much of a mystery as the circumstances of his death, as he had always been. It was no wonder Yuuri was so attached. 

Yuuri flicked his hand, and the flat projection turned off, the fan whirring as it cooled down. It was the last light in his bedroom, and Yuuri was left in darkness, with only his thoughts. Thoughts which inevitably turned to a few months prior, when he’d come in last place at his first Grand Prix Final, and why. 

His chest twinged, and Yuuri rolled over onto his side, willing sleep to take him before anxiety did. He would be in heat by morning. 

\---

_Alpha…_

Yuuri groaned as he woke to to soaked sheets and slick thighs, nonsensical heat-thoughts filling his head, a craving for an alpha he didn’t want and a knot he couldn’t stop moving for long enough to appreciate. He didn’t bother holding back, just reached down and pushed two fingers into his wet cunt while he reached for the first of several dildos that would bring him as close to satisfaction as Yuuri could get out of this heat. 

_Alpha, please, fill me, fuck me!_

There was no alpha, only the cool press of silicone as Yuuri seated himself on the dildo, tugging at his cock. His nipples throbbed as he bounced, his chest already filling with heat milk that no-one would drink. Not like the times Yuuri had found a heat partner, and they’d sucked the sweetness from him while they fucked him with long strokes, teased his asshole when he demanded it, brought him water between waves, then turned him over and fucked into him from behind while he screamed into a pillow. 

_So hot, need more._

No, Yuuri was responsible for himself this time. He fucked himself, he pinched his own nipples to leak, he plugged his own ass, he tried to remember in his few lucid moments to drink something. He grabbed at his own ass and thighs, his belly, his chest; fingertips dug into the plush pounds he’d put on since his season, and possibly his whole career, ended in December, followed by the worst heat of his life. 

_Ah, ah! There! Just like that!_

This heat wasn’t quite so bad, except that the last time he’d gone into heat at home had been in high school, and it was awkward all over again. It felt horribly invasive, to have his family worried about him while they had the inn and onsen to take care of. To lock himself up in his room with his dicks and his thoughts, when he would rather be doing anything other than himself. 

_It’s coming, I’m coming—_

Yuuri’s cunt clenched hard around the dildo, his thighs trembled and twitched closed. A small amount of milky cum dribbled from his cock, smearing between his thighs as his body jerked. He slumped forward, breathing hard, already feeling disgusting after just one orgasm. And how many were left to come in the three days he would be stuck like this? Already his skin itched for escape, his toes yearned for the kiss of ice under his blades. 

_Moremoremoremoremore_

With a grunt, Yuuri lifted himself up on his knees, then dropped down, once more picking up the familiar pace of riding cock. He threw his head back and moaned through gritted teeth. Having a heat alone was awful, which was exactly why Yuuri had avoided it whenever he could. These days he was too depressed to deal with someone else’s needs, but Yuuri was tired of being depressed; after this heat, he’d go back to trying to make something of his life. Perhaps he could take up singles ice dance. No jumps, just the spins and step sequences Yuuri was known for. Perfect. 

_Perfect!_

Yuuri froze, his lips parted in a moan as the dildo fucked him just right. He moved again, trying to find that same perfect slide — no luck. Damn it. He tried again, the snapping of his hips growing more and more frantic, and fuck, this was only day one. He couldn't lose it this early. Save that for the last day, the last hours if possible, when he couldn't control his thoughts, always straying to a long-deceased but inhumanly beautiful figure skater, who’d once been Yuuri's sexual awakening if he was truly honest with himself, and never stopped getting caught up in his fantasies since. 

_Alpha!_

Yuuri cursed. It wasn't new to him that his omega thoughts described Viktor as alpha, not because any part of Yuuri thought of him that way, but his heat called out for an alpha to stuff him with a knot, and his heart called out for a beautiful silver-haired omega from a century past, and one or the other would win out at any given time. Yuuri had always felt awkward about laying claim to a dead man, and one who didn't even like omegas. Viktor's preference for well-endowed alpha men who were prepared to bring down the moon for him had never been a secret. And then there was Yuuri; male, sure, but an omega, and even if his cock was “pretty big for an omega” as a heat partner had once told him, there was no way it was enough for someone expecting eight to ten inches and a knot. 

_Knot... knot..._

Again, Yuuri came, and when his legs unlocked from their tense position, he pulled himself up off the dildo and reached for a larger one. The only way to come close to satisfying his heat without a partner was this, bigger and bigger cocks shoved deep inside him until his cunt gaped and he could fit a whole fist at the end of his heat, or one of the frighteningly large knotting dildos he liked to pretend he didn't own until he absolutely needed them. 

_Yesyesyes_

Not that spending a heat with another person was completely satisfying either... that was the most annoying thing, Yuuri thought, that not only did he have no interest whatsoever in the alphas who might be able to satisfy him, at least physically, he also couldn’t get what he wanted from anyone who he had ever slept with. He would probably never truly enjoy his heats until he either got pregnant, or bonded and railed so hard he didn't remember most of it. But he always felt something was missing. 

_MORE!_

Maybe he just needed bigger dildos. 

\---

Yuuri tended to recover from his heats in the same way every time. Throw the whole nest in the laundry, take a scalding hot shower, air out his room, eat everything in sight, then go skate. Most omegas would probably sleep, but Yuuri could never quite manage it, too full of frustration after all that exertion. Besides, he needed to stretch properly, and he wouldn’t if he just stayed in bed. 

So, he packed up his skates and took a run to Ice Castle. 

On the way, Yuuri distantly realized he had missed the World Championship of Skating broadcast while he was locked up in his room. He spent a moment wondering if he should go back and check the recording, but decided against it. There was no rush. Who knew if Yuuri would even be allowed back in competition after he’d self-destructed this year? It didn’t matter what Giacometti or Altin’s scores were, not now, not when Yuuri expected he’d never skate against them again. 

Yuuri didn’t want to think about it, though he knew he couldn’t avoid the decision forever. He seemed to have taken all the steps toward retiring, from dropping his coach and Worlds, to moving back to Hasetsu and refusing all interviews. And after his awful showing this season, Yuuri thought it would be for the best if he just ended it there. But Yuuri didn’t want to stop skating forever. And some part of him still wanted to see the world from Viktor Nikiforov’s height, and stand where he stood on top of the world. 

As soon as Yuuri came in through the automatic doors, he had a face full of worried alpha. 

“Yuuri!” 

Yuuko had every right to worry; Yuuri had gotten home a week ago, then gone into heat almost immediately. If he told her that, she would know he’d cut it close just to have a good reason to avoid people. She would have wanted to see him. It had been five years after all. Yuuri had missed so much while he was away, from the town all but emptying out, to Ice Castle looking more run-down than he ever remembered it. Even the triplets had started scenting while he was away, three tiny alpha girls taking after Yuuko. 

“Is that really you?” Yuuko got as close as she could without actually touching Yuuri, knowing his boundaries. “I can’t believe it. It’s been five years, Yuuri!”

Despite Yuuko’s teasing, Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. After all, she was his oldest friend. He was happy to see her again after so long. “Sorry it’s been so long.” 

Yuuko shook her head, but she backed off. “I guess you want to skate? You better show me something good after all this time.” 

Yuuri scratched his head. “Well, I have been working on something. But I’ll have to sharpen my skates first.” 

A half hour of grinding and leather polish under Yuuko’s careful eye, and Yuuri was back on the ice. He handed her his glasses. 

Yuuri bit his lip. There was a part of him that wanted to cower under Yuuko’s insistent, excited gaze; Yuuri thought it was probably the same part of him that had been presenting himself for a non-existent alpha knot for the last three days. He could still feel the post-heat twinge in his abdomen. 

“Don’t look away,” Yuuri whispered. He turned, and took center ice. 

He heard Yuuko’s gasp, knew when she recognized the opening pose; after all, she’d been a Viktor Nikiforov fan even longer than Yuuri. 

Even without music, Yuuri knew this program by heart. He’d practiced it between seasons, never expecting to get anywhere near the level of execution that Viktor got out of it. But when it came to the opening quad, a Lutz, Yuuri threw himself into it, though he’d only ever completed as much as a triple before. He landed it, barely hanging on; the following quad flip was a little better, and Yuuri was probably even more shocked than Yuuko, who he could distantly hear cheering for him. 

Yuuri continued with a small smile on his face, which completely didn’t fit with the longing and loneliness of Viktor Nikiforov’s _Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare_ program, but maybe it needed a hopeful side. After that flip, Yuuri felt pretty good, as if he hadn’t just gotten out of fucking himself silly; the triple Axel was easy, but then again it was Yuuri’s favorite jump. 

If only he could skate like this at a competition, when the pressure was on, he’d be golden. Literally. 

Yuuri caught Yuuko’s eye during the step sequence. Her hands covered the lower half of her face, and she leaned forward over the boards. He couldn’t make her out any clearer without his glasses, but Yuuri could imagine her expression, eyes wide with shock, maybe even a bit teary. After all, the last time she had seen Yuuri skate a whole program in person, he’d gotten a bronze at the junior World Championship, had just started learning the triple Axel, and was about to go off to the States to meet his first real coach. She must have seen him on the live streams, but there was a huge difference between seeing someone skate on a holovideo and seeing it in person. 

And Yuuri was _better_ today, better than he’d ever been, landing more quads than he’d ever practiced, only stumbling on the Salchow that always had eluded him. 

Yuuri wasn’t often proud of himself, but now, he could almost feel it. 

“That was so cool!” Yuuko shouted at him when it was over. Her hands slapped the boards repeatedly, jostling Yuuri’s glasses. “I thought you were depressed, I haven’t seen you at all!”

“I was in heat,” Yuuri explained, far from shy about it in front of his oldest friend. “But yeah, I was depressed too. Then I got tired of it. I’ve always wanted to skate as well as Viktor, so I thought, why not try it? We used to skate Viktor’s programs when we were little, and it always cheered me up.” 

“That’s so badass!” Yuuko said, jumping in place. “You just got _tired_ of being depressed? And pulled that,” she gestured at the ice, “out of nowhere after a heat? Who does that!” She gripped the boards and leaned in towards Yuuri, getting in his face as was her habit. “You’re amazing, Yuuri, I always told you.”

Yuuri rubbed the back of his head. Compliments; that was what always made him bashful. Because how amazing was he, really? If he could only skate this well in private, in a run-down old rink in his hometown. 

\---

Yuuri should have expected this. He should have expected it when Yuuko’s girls popped out of nowhere with holovid sensors and a camera, should have known immediately that the triplets he knew to be skating otaku through and through, would share his private skating with the world. He’d only seen three seconds of the video before coming to a decision: this was too embarrassing, so not only would Yuuri retire, he would also never leave Hasetsu again, never even leave Yutopia if he could help it. He would dig himself a nice little hole for a home, cover it with a rock, and become a hermit. He would fade into obscurity and then into nothingness. No-one would ever see his face again. 

Yuuri should have expected the video. Everything that came after — well, that was beyond the realm of expectation. 

\---

“Yuuri, there’s a foreigner in the onsen!” 

Yuuri groaned from where he had burrowed himself underneath all of his laundry. A week ago, it was freshly washed, warm and nice-smelling; now, it smelled like post-heat Yuuri and embarrassment. 

“He’s very handsome,” Yuuri’s father continued, speaking to him through the closed door. 

Yuuri turned over to face away from the door. He knew he was being rude, but he quite liked his new habit. Sleeping through the day, sneaking leftovers from the kitchen and soaking in the onsen alone at night. Speaking to no-one. Utter bliss. 

“He looks like the omega in those posters of yours.”

That got Yuuri’s interest — for a flat second, and then he felt his face burn, and dug his way deeper into the pile of blankets and various articles of clothing. There was a sock under his cheek, and those never quite lost the scent of living inside of a skating boot. 

Yuuri heard a sigh, then footsteps as his father moved away from the door. He felt a little bad; he’d been ignoring his family’s gentle nudges to help him leave the room for days now. He just… really really did not want to deal with the embarrassment of having his imitation broadcast all over the world. He hadn’t even played any of his games in the interim; none of his online friends knew who he was, but many of them liked figure skating, and while Yuuri knew he wasn’t all that popular, he was sure they’d be sharing with him the video and any resulting memes. It already had over a million views when Yuuri got to it, which he thought was absolutely unbelievable. 

He didn’t want to know what people were saying, what they thought of him, of his post-heat body and all the times he’d stumbled and whatever old-fashioned alphas had to say about where he belonged instead of the ice and what should be filling which holes. Nope, he was perfectly content here, in his burrow-nest, surrounded by the smell of his own anxiety. 

Yuuri stretched his back. Oh, _wow_ , that was a strong anxiety scent. Putrid, like onions. Or -- _sniff_ \-- nope, that was just his B.O. Oh well. 

A few hours later, or was it the next morning? Yuuri’s mother came knocking, saying something about snow. 

Yuuri sat up, confused, and moved his curtain aside just the slightest bit. He squinted in the light, bright white, and saw the thin layer of powdery snow on the ground, already beginning to melt. 

Snow? In 2114? In April? In _Hasetsu_?

Yuuri finally took pity on his family, and rolled out of bed, taking half the haphazardly stacked nest with him. His intention was to shovel snow after a shower, but as he showered he figured he may as well soak a bit first, and as he stepped gingerly into the mixed bath he saw what must be the omega his father had described. 

And wow, did he ever look like Viktor Nikiforov. He was facing away from Yuuri, but his profile alone was unmistakable; the blue eyes, the long lashes, the bowed lips, the secretive smile; even the long, protruding nose that so many magazines had tried to edit to a shape that better fit the stereotypical dainty omega standards. But Viktor had never been stereotypical, and this man was a perfect match, as if he was one of those ero-players, sex workers who wore lifelike masks or went through incredible surgeries to better resemble those they impersonated. 

Yuuri had half a mind to ask if he was, in fact, an ero-player, and would he mind joining Yuuri for a night? But Yuuri couldn’t possibly afford such a beautiful omega. His long, perfectly maintained silver hair was evidence enough that he was high status. Viktor had cut his hair, of course, around the age of twenty-two; the story was that he wanted to appear more mature. Yuuri had found the long, bright hair enchanting; no less, on this omega who sat across from him, but he also loved Viktor’s later style, that swept across his eyes, lending him a certain princely dignity… 

The omega moved, and he looked right at Yuuri. 

Yuuri startled; the water rippled around him, and he froze in place, as the omega began to stand up, his long hair falling about his shoulders in captivating waves. 

“Yuuri!” 

Oh no. He knew who Yuuri was. Panic mode activated. 

Yuuri turned, hands scrabbling at the rocks, ready to bolt out of the onsen and back into the relative anonymity of his bedroom, but stopped when that same voice called out, “Wait!” 

Yuuri, despite his better judgment, waited. He waited until the Viktor Nikiforov lookalike had waded across the pool, close enough to touch. 

“Yuuri Katsuki. I’ve been looking for you.”

“What for?” Yuuri asked. He shivered; halfway out of the water, the chill of the snowy day was getting to him. 

“Sit down. Let’s talk.” 

Every word out of this stranger’s mouth was more ridiculous than the last. He must be really attached to his story, saying he _was_ Viktor Nikiforov, that he was immortal (?), that he wanted to give Yuuri some kind of magic contract (???), that he wanted to _coach_ Yuuri (????????????????????). Yuuri didn’t believe a word of it, of course, but went along with it for a while before he cut in. 

“So, um, _Viktor_.” 

“Viktor” paused in his speech. He watched Yuuri, patient, that signature entrancing smile so encouraging while also making Yuuri feel very, very small, when in truth they were mere centimeters apart in height. 

“I’m willing to go along with this story, if you think it’s necessary, I just want to know — who asked you to come here?”

“What do you mean?” The tiniest wrinkle of confusion appeared between thin, silver brows. 

“I mean, who hired you? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, I just want to know. Was it Minako? Yuuko? Oh, god, it wasn’t my parents, was it?”

The wrinkle deepened. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“You’re an ero-player, aren’t you?”

The silence that followed was as pregnant as Tanaka-san in the omega bath. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You don’t have to keep up the story, really. You look exactly like him, that’s enough for me.”

“You think I’m just here to sleep with you.”

“Well, um. Yes? Why else would someone who looks like Viktor Nikiforov be here?” Yuuri’s hero-worship of the man wasn’t exactly a secret, and he was certain there were still people out there who believed those old leaked sound clips actually were _him_ moaning Viktor’s name in his tiny room at a competition hotel. 

(They _were_ , but no-one needed to _know_ that.)

He stood abruptly, and Yuuri averted his eyes by habit. “Let’s continue this conversation inside.”

Yuuri scrambled to his feet, but by the time he was out of the water, “Viktor” had already closed the door behind himself. Yuuri didn’t catch up to him until they were both dressed and seated in the dining room. 

Apparently this beautiful stranger had booked himself an extended stay at the inn. When Yuuri sat down, he pulled several items from the belt of his robes; an old passport, expired ISU credentials, a gold medal. 

“Uh.” Yuuri stared at these items, scattered on the table. 

“They’re real,” the stranger said. He waved, encouraging Yuuri to look through them. 

Yuuri picked up the medal first. Its weight was solid, the shape and size perfect, though a bit scratched in a few areas and dented deeply near the bottom, enough to expose the nickel underneath the gold plating. Yuuri recognized this medal easily; it was Viktor Nikiforov’s most famous one. Not either of his Olympic medals, but rather the one he wore in his last Grand Prix, the one that had been pinched between elegant fingers in hundreds of obituary articles and news stories that Yuuri had scrapbooked together painstakingly, each fragile piece of newsprint carefully preserved. The ribbon was frayed in places, the luster dulled by dust and wear, but it was unmistakable. 

“This is… a good replica. Even looks aged.”

Not-Viktor stared, waving Yuuri on. 

Yuuri picked up the ISU badge next. This, too, was from the 2014 Grand Prix Final; the laminated card was bent and warped, the lanyard pilled and stained. The symbols for _competitor_ and _assistant coach_ were slightly blurred at the edges, a habit of the stamp ink. But the seal on the back was genuine. “How did you get this?” 

“How do you think?” Not-Viktor said. Was he… mocking Yuuri?

The last item was the passport. It, too, was bent and stained, dark brown on several pages. The lettering on the front was almost all worn away, but the indents were still there, almost legible. Most of the readable pages were full of visas and travel stamps from all over the world. The expiration date was in December 2018. Yuuri’s tentative grasp of Cyrillic was enough to read Viktor Nikiforov’s name, birthdate, hair and eye color, height… Yuuri snapped it closed. 

“These belong in a museum.”

“No. They belong with me. They are mine.” There was agitation in the stranger’s voice. “The blood on them is mine, too.” 

Yuuri dropped the passport, his fingers twitching as if burned. 

“I told you, I’m immortal. And I’m the type that dies and comes back to life. Would you like me to prove that to you, too? I can go drown myself in the onsen if you’d like. Or if you want to take me to bed, you can suffocate me with your--”

“No!” Yuuri shouted. He was starting to get scared; none of this made _sense_. Immortality? Impossible. Viktor Nikiforov? Even more impossible. 

“Give me your hand.” 

Yuuri’s back went rigid. “What are you going to do?”

“Prove to you that I’m not an impersonator.” Possibly-Viktor held out his hand, and waved it when Yuuri continued to hesitate. 

Yuuri reached out, and as soon as their hands touched, he felt electrified. The room faded around him into a white haze, replaced by smooth shapes that never seemed to stay still, forms like wooden building blocks that beckoned one forward with their perfection. 

He saw Maybe-Viktor standing far ahead, his back to Yuuri. 

_“This is my world.”_

He turned, and his hair caught a non-existent breeze, whipping around his face. 

_“Do you want to see my past?”_

He didn’t wait for Yuuri’s response, only shoved a memory at him, hazy and half-formed. A child in a white dress with hair long enough to trail on the floor. A church, a terrifying smile, indistinct shouting, and blood. Yuuri saw this through Viktor’s eyes, felt a weight in his arms, looked down through eyes blurry with tears. Screaming. He walked away from the altar, turning back only to glimpse the same child laid out on the steps, bleeding from the neck, a wide smile on their small features. Surrounded by unknown corpses. 

_“That child was the one who turned me into this. Don’t feel bad for them; they wanted release.”_

Staggering into sunlight, blood on his hands, on his face. A splitting headache. A look in the mirror to show a scar across his forehead. 

Yuuri found himself back in the hazy, white space; Viktor’s hair blew away from his face, showing the same scar, still angry red. 

_“I call it my albatross.”_

More memories flashed before his eyes; a hundred deaths, a thousand. And as many breaths of life pushed back into his lungs, burning. 

Yuuri felt Viktor drop his hand, and he was pulled back from Viktor’s thoughts. 

“Do you see now?” Viktor said, staring him down across the low table. “Who I am, and my curse.” 

Yuuri couldn’t speak; his throat was dry, swelled up by panic. 

“As I said, I’m here to coach you. And to offer you a contract.” Viktor smiled. “You were the one who called me, after all. I felt you calling before I even saw the video. Your skating is beautiful.” He reached across the table, caressed Yuuri’s limp hand. “You just need a push in the right direction. What do you say?” 

Yuuri’s blood rushed in his ears. He felt a little dizzy, after all that information at once. He blinked, and as he felt the world tip sideways, he mumbled, “Oyasumi.”

\---

Yuuri woke to the smell of katsudon and warm fingers in his hair. 

He found his cheek pillowed on a muscular thigh, a light and airily pleasant, almost wintery scent wafting from the scent gland near his nose, and Yuuri shot upright, nearly hitting Viktor — _oh my god it’s Viktor Nikiforov_ — in the chin. 

“Did you have a nice nap?” Viktor asked. 

Yuuri almost swooned a second time. His face had been _this close_ to Viktor’s crotch. Suddenly all of Yuuri’s heat dreams were a thousand times more embarrassing. 

Remembering the events that preceded his impromptu nap, Yuuri forced himself to take deep breaths before the panic set in again. This was Viktor, the real Viktor Nikiforov sitting across from (and briefly under) him, offering things Yuuri couldn’t even dream of. 

“I can’t pay you,” Yuuri said, very quiet. He’d gotten by for a while on his earnings from national competitions, sponsorships, and athletic grants, but with his recent plummeting in the ranks he had nothing left.

“We’ll discuss coaching fees after you win,” Viktor answered easily. 

“Win?” 

“Yes. I intend to coach you to gold at the Grand Prix Final. Not only that, but you’ll beat my world records.” Viktor said it so easily, as if he really believed Yuuri could do it. But most ridiculous of all was that he wanted someone to best him in the first place. 

“Why would you want that?!” 

Viktor shrugged. “You saw inside my head. I can barely remember my first death; very little remains of my life. I’m tired of this world that worships me for things I don’t remember doing. I want my name wiped from the records, and I need someone to show the world it’s possible, so everyone else will start trying.” Viktor touched a finger to his empty cup, once full of tea. He gave a small smile to the wet tea leaf dust that settled at the bottom. “I may be a legend, but I’m only human.” 

Yuuri hoped the irony of that statement did not escape Viktor, because really? Human? Yuuri had seen enough of Viktor’s last century in their little mind-share to know that wasn’t the whole truth. 

“What about the… contract? Magic? I don’t know if I want that.”

“Consider it an optional condition of my coaching.” Viktor stretched out his legs under the table, his bare feet touching Yuuri’s knees. “I’ll give you a discount on coaching fees.” He winked. Yuuri felt his cheeks go pink; pinker, when Viktor laughed. 

“Explain it to me. I… I don’t know how much of this I believe, but I won’t take it if I don’t know what will happen to me.” Yuuri had watched enough movies, played enough games, to know that one didn’t agree to a magical contract without a thorough understanding of its terms. 

“It’s simple, really.” Viktor relaxed further, leaning back on his hands, letting his long hair fall back over his shoulders as he inspected the ceiling. He looked so carefree, but Yuuri noticed the tension in his shoulders and neck, wondered at it while Viktor explained. “You get magic; some type of emotional or metaphysical control. It derives from an ability or quality you already have, taking it to an extreme. I can’t predict what it will be ahead of time.”

“What are some examples?” Yuuri asked. 

“A young man who was good at manipulation and trickery could compel others to obey him at his word. Another with a heart condition could stop others’ perception of time with his own arrhythmia. A queen who feared death was able to transfer her soul to another’s body. An omega in a society that considered her body their property enslaved those who had hurt her through affecting a false love.” Viktor tilted his head, staring at Yuuri; his fringe had swept back enough that Yuuri could see that angry scar on his forehead, what Viktor had called an albatross. “Does that give you some idea?”

Yuuri nodded. 

“In return for my gift, you’re bound to one wish of mine. Technically, the terms of the contract are that you must fulfill my wish, and then you can take my immortal curse; or you die trying. But that’s if I keep you bound to the contract for the rest of your life. If you break all my records before you make my wish come true, or if you for whatever reason can’t skate anymore, I’ll break the contract. If you fulfill my wish first, I can’t reverse the contract.” 

“Can I know what the wish is?” 

Viktor shook his head. “It has to be by your own will that you fulfill it. If I tell you, I’d be influencing you towards or against it. That isn’t always the case, but my wish is very… particular.” 

Yuuri looked down at the table, following the wood’s grain with his eyes. It seemed too risky. He didn’t know enough, and what did he really need magic for, anyway? “I’ll think about it.”

Viktor seemed pleased with this. “And the coaching?”

Yuuri thought about this, silently. He could feel Viktor’s eyes on him, but he ignored it. Yuuri knew, deep down, he wasn’t ready to give up yet. Even though he’d done everything that led up to a retirement, from firing his coach to dropping out of Worlds to running home and ignoring the press for months, Yuuri hadn’t stopped skating, hadn’t stopped trying… And even a bit out of shape, he’d skated better than ever to Viktor’s most demanding program. He didn’t want to deal with the fallout of becoming a figure skating meme that had reached all the way to the budding Mars colony, but despite that, Yuuri knew he couldn’t settle for bowing out at his lowest point. 

He had the chance in front of him to try one more time, to end his career on a high note. And even more than that, he had the chance to skate on the same ice as Viktor Nikiforov. 

Yuuri straightened his back, then leaned forward in as deep of a bow as he could. “Please, coach me. I’ll do my best not to let you down.” Yuuri felt a hand ruffling his hair. He looked up, rising partway from his bow; Viktor’s hand hooked under his jaw, a thumb on his lips. It was almost flirtatious, or it would have been, if there was any chance Viktor was attracted to him. 

Viktor’s voice was almost a purr when he spoke, low and rumbling. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Just then, the scent of katsudon strengthened; Yuuri’s mother came in with two bowls on a tray, and served them out on the table. 

“Hiroko-san!” Viktor shouted, as if they were old friends. 

“Vicchan,” she said. 

Yuuri felt a pang in his chest at the familiar nickname. Why was his mother using it for Viktor — and why did it seem like they’d already talked while he was passed out? 

“You’re awake,” she commented, smiling at Yuuri. “It’s good to see you out of your room.”

Yuuri nodded. “Sorry I’ve been so unhelpful.”

Hiroko shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. We know you needed time to yourself. Now, eat up. If Vicchan is going to coach you, I won’t be making you any more katsudon until I see a gold medal. Right?”

“Is that so?” Viktor asked. He took Yuuri’s hand — Yuuri jumped before he realized Viktor didn’t intend to take him to that strange memory world again — and brought it up to his nose, sniffing the inside of his wrist. “Hmm. Now I know why you’re so out of shape. You smell like you’ve been eating nothing but fried pork cutlets for weeks.” 

Yuuri flushed. Was now a good time to mention the cravings he got before his heat? No, no; better focus on the touch of Viktor’s nose to his skin, as if Viktor was scenting him. Why would he _do_ that? Yuuri knew he could be smelled from a mile away, even through the alpha-grade scent masking soaps he’d used since his presentation, even in the States where scent masking was almost unheard of outside of one’s mating weeks. 

“I assume you have your own nutritional regimen,” Viktor said, his nose still pressed to Yuuri’s pulse point. His breath tickled the hairs on the side of Yuuri’s arm. “I’d like to take a look at it. You may be able to do incredible things even with such cute belly rolls, but I won’t let you back onto the ice until you’re back in competitive shape.” 

“Cute?!” Yuuri protested; he curled inward, wanting to hide said belly rolls from Viktor’s eyes. 

“Don’t hide from me,” Viktor snapped, tugging on Yuuri’s arm. “There’s no room for hiding in figure skating. Enjoy your katsudon; tomorrow, your off-season ends.”

**Author's Note:**

> This series is an indeterminate number of parts total, as I'm not done with it yet, but the first 7 parts will be my writing contribution to the Live and Love YOI Big Bang. That's the first half of my outline, arcs 1-3. Arc 4 is mostly written, and 4-7 will be posted after they're all done, so it may be a bit of a wait yet. I hope you enjoy this convoluted, self-indulgent thing. I've been having lots of fun writing it.


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